


Heat

by reindeerjumper



Category: Bridget Jones's Diary (2001), Bridget Jones's Diary - All Media Types, Bridget Jones's Diary - Helen Fielding
Genre: Angst, F/M, Ficlet, Hot Weather, Hurt No Comfort, Light Angst, POV Male Character, Rescue, Rescue Missions, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-08-29 08:23:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8482426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reindeerjumper/pseuds/reindeerjumper
Summary: The Thai prison scene from Bridget Jones: Edge of Reason, written from Mark's POV





	

**Author's Note:**

> A tumblr prompt for @boothseeley, from [this list](http://hisreindeerjumper.tumblr.com/post/152728729755/send-me-characters-and-a-letter-and-ill-write) (fire, flames, or excessive heat).

When Shazzer had come to Mark, racked with guilt and grief over what had happened in Thailand, Mark had felt fear for the first time in his life. Of course he had been scared before, but this was a fear that settled into his bones and crippled him. He wasn’t one to get ruffled easily, but as Shazzer relayed what had happened to Bridget, he could feel the onset of panic firing off in his brain.  _ Is she OK? Are they treating her well? What if I can’t get her released?  _

Despite what they had been through, Mark didn’t doubt that he still loved her. He had managed to box away his emotions and put them into some small, compartmentalized section of his heart, but they still lurked right below the surface, no matter how hard he tried to suppress them. He had simply reserved himself to the fact that he wasn’t what she wanted, and he had picked himself up by the bootstraps and tried to move on.

This, though...this was different. Her safety and wellbeing were in question, and  _ that _ was something he couldn’t simply file away. He needed to see her, make sure she was well, hold her in his arms to feel the warmth and weight of her body against his. That was a security that Mark didn’t know he needed, but now craved. 

Within hours, Mark had woken two cabinet ministers out of a dead sleep and had summoned half of MI5. Bridget’s arrest was not something that he was taking lightly, and the panic that blurred the edges of his vision were not something he allowed to distract him. If anything, it focused him and motivated him to take action as soon as possible.  _ Keep calm and carry on, _ that was his motto. 

The next thing Mark knew, he was on a red eye flight to Thailand. The eleven hours that left him corralled on the plane were the most torturous hours Mark ever had to endure. He knew he had all the evidence he needed--he had Jed’s photo, an alibi, the support from the government.  _ But what if it isn’t enough _ . No amount of whiskey or sleeping pills could calm him, so he settled on going through the file in front of him with compulsive continuity. Occasionally, he would allow himself a glimpse at the photo of Bridget he had in his wallet...he still didn’t have the heart to get rid of it. 

Once he arrived in Thailand, the embassy whisked him off to the women’s prison where Bridget was being held. Mark had worn his typical barrister attire--a full suit and tie, with briefcase in hand. He had forgotten how hot Thailand could be, and he was thankful for the air conditioning in the embassy car, knowing its cool relief wouldn’t last long. Between the humidity and his nerves, he could already feel a bead of sweat making its way down his spine.

The guards had ushered him into a dimly lit room, where just a table and chairs resided. The one wall was simple caged metal, allowing him to see into the prison. Women of all ages milled about, and he couldn’t bear the idea of how warm it must be in those confined quarters. He had already sweat through the button down he was wearing, and he feared for the dignity of his suit if this heat kept up much longer. Wiping his hands on his trouser fronts, Mark turned his back to the caged wall to look out the window.  _ Anything to distract me, _ he thought.

He could hear the cage door open, and it took him half a second to decide what to do. Part of him was relieved that they had Bridget, and that she was well enough to walk and enter the room by herself, but the other part of him was so incredibly nervous. He knew that the internal struggle that he was about to face was insurmountable--part of him already wanted to leap across the table and take her in his arms, and the other part of him wanted to be cool and closed off to protect himself. 

When Mark turned around, his heart leapt into his throat. He had now thoroughly soaked the back of his shirt, and the fists that he had shoved into his pockets felt like lava. No matter how hard he tried to remain cool and collected, the heat of the room mixed with the rush of endorphins upon seeing Bridget were too much for him. He licked his upper lip to remove a bead of sweat that was inching its way down his face. 

Bridget stood by the door, a look of absolute disbelief on her face. A sheen covered her body, highlighting her collarbone and drawing attention to the plunging neckline of her t-shirt. She was smoking a cigarette, and Mark couldn’t help but smile internally-- _ Leave it to Bridget to be smoking a cigarette in this boiling heat. _

Despite his amusement, Mark kept his face stony. He loved her, yes, but he also was here on business...not to mention the fact that in his search for evidence, it became clear that Bridget had spent a night in Daniel Cleaver’s room. That had stung, but it hadn’t deterred him from doing everything in his power to help Bridget. The panic didn’t go away, and the nerves didn’t calm, but seeing her now helped to soothe the ruffled feathers. 

“How are you?” he asked.

“Fine,” she laughed, taking a drag off of her cigarette. “And...y’know...scared shitless. But perky.” Her eyes trained on his, and he tried to block off the urge to take her in his arms and soothe her. He wanted to whisper in her hair that it was all going to be OK, and that she would be out of this wretched place within the week. Instead, Mark kept his hands shoved tightly into his pockets, trying to comfortably stand with authority while ignoring the sweat that now caused his shirt to cling to his abdomen. 

“I can’t believe you came all this way,” she continued, the hope and adoration shining in her eyes. 

Before he could stop himself, Mark gave her some pompous, half-arsed lie, saying that he was in Thailand anyway for another business venture. The hurt in Bridget’s eyes registered, but it did nothing to stop the thanks that vibrated off of her. He could see in her body language just how scared she was as she rambled on about being innocent, stating to him all of the details that he already knew after finding Jed. 

Mark tried to keep on track, offering her the legal papers from his briefcase, when she expressed to him all of the things that he had been feeling for months. 

“I think about you all the time,” she said, approaching the table eagerly. Mark wanted to push the sweaty tendril of hair off of her forehead and place a kiss there, tasting the salt from her brow. He awkwardly cleared his throat, pushing through his wants and sticking to the facts. He didn’t want to deviate from the purpose of him being there, for fear that they would end up entangled in each other, their clothes sticking together as their lips clashed against each other. 

As he continued to ask her questions, the petty part of his brain that rarely sprang forward decided to egg him on. “Is this the man with whom you were seen taking hallucinogenic mushrooms with before you spent the night in Daniel Cleaver’s hotel room?” he asked, offering her a photo of Jed. It had spilled out of his mouth before he could stop it. Bridget stumbled over her answer before trying to defend herself, and the next thing that tumbled out after his petty question were the words, “Your sex life doesn’t concern me.”

He could see the hurt in Bridget’s eyes as they glossed over. She physically recoiled from him, clearly hurt by the words he flung at her. He hated himself for doing it. A drop of sweat snaked its way down his sideburn and slipped under his collar. Allowing himself to look at her directly, Mark asked Bridget if there had been any ill treatment. She shook her head, trying to make a joke about the toilets.

It hurt too much to stand a table-width apart from her in a situation like this and not jump across the distance to hold her. He busied himself with his briefcase, willing himself to keep his eyes down and not make eye contact with her. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement, and realized that Bridget was sliding her hand across the table toward him, clearly desperate for some kind of physical contact. Mark shoved down his instinct to grab it and hold it, still hurt by her actions with Daniel and still aware that he was technically on the job. The friction from her hand had left a trail of sweat on the table.

Without a word, Mark headed towards the holding area that would lead him out of the room. He walked over the threshold of the antechamber--a small, caged space where a guard was waiting for him--intent on keeping the exchange between him and Bridget curt and quick. His trousers were now clinging to his legs from the excessive heat in the room. He was just about to leave when he heard her call his name.

“Mark?” she said quietly. He turned towards her, allowing himself from the safety of the cage to finally look at her. The blue of her eyes were being overcome by tears that she was valiantly trying to hold back as a bead of sweat dripped down her collarbone. “Thank you,” she whispered, biting her lip. 

Mark could feel the heat under his collar as he pushed the urge aside to shove the guard out of the way and reopen the door. He hated seeing her cry...it always managed to stir some primitive urge in him to protect her and take care of her.  _ You’ve done that already _ , a voice said at the back of his mind. He took a steadying breath.

“You’re welcome,” he said curtly. “I’m just the messenger. Good luck...I’m glad I could be of help.” Without a look behind him, he walked through the door of the cell and out into the lobby of the prison. 

Even the fan blowing lazily from the front desk couldn’t bring him relief.


End file.
